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KATHERIIS 


WHITE  SILENCES 


THE  LIBRARY 

UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA 
LOS  ANGELES 


WHITE  SILENCES 


Poems 
A  Play 
& 
A  Tale 


By 
[CATHERINE  BULL 


THE  TOUCHSTONE 
PUBLISHING  CO. 
NEW  YORK 


Seeking,  we  shall  find — despairing  there  shall  arise  new  hopes. 
Down  in  the  valley  we  said  "We  have  searched  everywhere" — 
and  we  had  never  climbed  this  peak! 

In  an  unthought  place  we  shall  find  It. 

From  THE  GREY-GREEN  FOREST, 

A  PROSE-POEM. 


MEMORIAL 


In  the  middle  of  October,  1918,  (Catherine  Bull,  a  little  girl 
of  fifteen,  slipped  away  into  the  Great  Beyond,  leaving 
this  message — written  many  months  before  and  tucked  away 
among  her  poems — for  a  world  brought  face  to  face  with 
sorrowing  and  death : 

"  You  talk  to  me  about  dying, 
What  do  you  know  about  dying? 
It  is  not  dying  you  mean    ....    you  mean  LIFE." 

There  was  no  struggle,  no  anticipation;  just  a  sudden 
flitting  away,  like  a  bird  let  out  of  its  cage. 

Her  last  two  years  were  spent  at  boarding  school,  and 
filled  so  full  of  joyous  interest  in  all  the  usual  activities, 
that  there  was  great  surprise  among  her  friends  to  find  she  had 
long  been  writing  poems  like  these.  "She  never  talked  about 
such  things"  they  said,  and  "She  didn't  seem  different  from 
the  rest  of  us." 

She  was  perhaps  the  most  concentrated  bit  of  livingness 
in  the  entire  school,  and  so  when  she  went  quietly  away,  with 
hardly  any  warning  whatsoever,  there  might  have  been  an 
emptiness  experienced,  a  sense  of  loss — a  sadness  that  so 
much  joy  of  life  should  be  removed  from  sight. 

But  here  the  "difference,"  not  always  noticeable  before, 
was  suddenly  apparent:  she  was  one  for  whom  you  could  not 
mourn!  And  the  wonderful  awareness  that  was  hers,  deep 
down  under  the  ordinary  current  of  her  life,  bloomed  out  into 
a  sudden  radiance  and  overflowed  the  hearts  of  those  who 
were  most  near  to  her,  leaving  no  place  for  ordinary  grief. 
"We  never  knew  that  death  could  be  like  this"  ...  the 
children  said  to  one  another. 


2134334 


There  was  no  thought  of  any  burial,  even  after  the 
alchemy  of  fire  had  wrought  its  rapid  change.  Up  on 
the  Mountain  of  her  poem — beyond  the  sign  that  reads 
"End  of  the  Road,"  she  planned  to  build  a  little  house  some 
far-off  day — a  little  house  that  would  look  out  over  the 

river And     so— a     certain     morning 

before  dawn  .  .  .  the  one  who  was  most-near-of-all  to  her 
went  up — alone and  the  little  handful  of  star- 
dust,  given  to  the  winds,  was  scattered  lightly  on  the  mountain 
side. 

Always  to  the  point  where  men  write  "End  of  the  Road" 

and  then  beyond! She  would  have  none 

of  your  limitations. 

The  poetry  began  to  appear  when  she  was  eight  years  old. 
Always  it  was  quite  spontaneous,  and  seldom  tampered 
with  once  it  was  written  down.  The  early  verses  here 
included  are  chosen  from  a  much  larger  number  which 
she  made  into  a  little  manuscript  book  and  dedicated  "To 
my  Mother."  No  one  could  possibly  be  more  critical  of  these 
first  attempts  than  was  the  child  herself,  after  she  had  begun 
to  strike  her  truer  gait  She  never  ceased  to  enjoy  reading 
them  over  to  us,  however,  sometimes  laughing  whole-heartedly 
at  their  "childishness,"  and  sometimes  commenting  very 
quaintly — but  quite  impersonally— on  their  good  points  and 
on  their  bad  ones! 

She  read  a  great  amount  of  poetry,  and  the  influence  of 
Edward  Carpenter  particularly  is  easy  to  be  traced  in  much 
that  she  has  done.  At  times  she  has  quite  frankly  taken  over 
forms  of  rhyme  or  meter  that  made  a  strong  appeal,  and  her 
indebtedness  to  Lanier  is  obvious  in  one  instance — to  Vachell 
Lindsay  in  another.  Yet  both  these  poems  contain  so  much 
that  is  entirely  her  own,  it  seemed  a  pity  to  exclude  them  from 
her  book. 


The  later  poems  were  the  most  precious  things  in  her 
possession,  and  nearly  all  of  them  are  given  here — the  less 
good  with  the  best — to  make  their  own  appeal,  and  take 
whatever  place  belongs  to  them  amid  the  universal  heralding 
of  a  New  Day  already  at  our  gates. 


High  up  on  the  mountain  side  there  blooms  to-day  a  cloud 
of  everlasting  flowers — the  loveliest  gayest  little  grey- 
white  immortelles.  It  is  as  tho  the  brooding  Earth  in  her  great 
tenderness  and  mother-love  could  not  forego  the  customary 
marking  of  the  spot!  And  yet — the  very  mountain  seems 
alive  with  her,  the  little  strong  one  who  wandered  lightly  over 
it  so  often  and  so  eagerly,  and  there  is  no  sense  of  any  part 
peculiarly  hers. 

For  there  is  an  end  of  graves  at  hand — in  the  earth  and 
in  our  hearts  as  well.  If  this  were  to  be  the  beginning  of  the 
end  ....  what  more  fitting  memorial  to  the  little  poet 
of  Immortality  and  Freedom — who  made  this  book  for  you! 

NINA  BULL 


CONTENTS 

Page 

Dedication «  .,   ^  .  •„  «\    .«••..       .  11 

Silences     . ,       .    .  »       ..      .       .  12 

Song  Sparrow ...       .       .  13 

The  Open  Road   .       .       .       .       .       .       .       .       .       .       .  14 

To  the  Winged  Clouds    .       .       .'....     -.       .       .  15 

To  My  Heart .       .  16 

If  thou  hast  given  thy  life      .       .       .....       »       .  17 

Sea  Song        .       ••       •       •       •       «       f.       <       .       .  18 

Storm  of  Spirits ..       .  19 

If  you  have  saved  a  friend's  life     .       .       .       .       .       .       .  20 

Worship    ..." 2 1 

Heat 22 

You .       ,       .       .  23 

Lines '......,.  24 

Wandering  Lightly 25 

Evening  Prayer 26 

Morning  Prayer 27 

Songs  of  My  Being,  I  and  II 28 

Spring 30 

The  Storm 32 

A  tiny  red  spider 34 

I    said 35 

Wild  .  .    wet .  .    women  on  the  hill-tops 36 

Quiet  things  a-lapping  up  the  drear-time      .       .       .       .  37 

White   Mirrors 38 

There  is  no  silence 39 

You  are  so  foolish 40 

Kisses  of  the  Bending  Lilies 41 

I  Accept  You       .       .       .       ...       .       .       .       .       -  42 

Mountain 43 

Death:  A  Play 44 


EARLY  POEMS  Page 

Around  the  Fire 48 

The  Sky 49 

A  Wish 50 

Song  of  the  Fisherman's  Child 51 

To  Lilies 52 

God 53 

The  Snow  Storm 54 

Charm:  To  be  said  before  going  to  sleep  .  .  .  55 

To  M.  H.  L 56 

I  went  to  the  churchyard 57 

The  Song  of  the  Child 58 

The  Stars 59 

The  Ocean's  Lullaby 60 

Epilogue 61 

The    Difference:    A    Tale  82 


DEDICATION 

To  My  Mother 

Mother,  you  sit  in  the  twilight,  and 
As  the  twilight  deepens,  the  blackness  ripens, 
The  ocean  sways  and  the  ocean  quivers, 
And  breezes  glide  through  the  air  like  rivers, 
The  sun  sinks  lower  beneath  the  horizon, 
The  world  is  mystic, — the  shadows  gloomy, 
The  earth  is  veiled  in  a  veil  of  splendor — 
A  magic  veil  that  conies  from  the  fairies; 
Woven  and  spun — woven  and  spun 
On  an  elfin  loom  with  elfin  network. 

0  how  short  is  the  magical  moment! 

How  precious,  how  lovely  the  magical  moment! 
When  the  black  leaves  come  and  the  green  leaves  go 
And  color  fades  from  the  world  of  real  things- 
World  of  real  things-— of  unreal  things. 

But,  Mother,  you  love  to  sit  in  the  twilight, 
To  watch,  as  it  deepens,  the  blackness  ripen, 
The  ocean  sway  and  the  ocean Nay, 

1  have  said  it — I  will  not  say  it  again; 
But  you  must  seal  my  lips  with  a  kiss, 
With  a  kiss,  Mother,  good-night. 


11 


SILENCES 

Hove 

The  white  silences  that  you  keep. 


I  do  not  know  who  you  are  ... 
Only  your  silences  hide  in  my  soul. 


12 


SONG  SPARROW 

I  heard  you,  little  soul-singer 

In  the  sweet  pause  of  the  rising  morning  you  wounded  me 
to  life. 

To-day  you  are  loved  and  noted  of  heaven 

And  forever  you  shall  be  of  the  Sacred  Ones 


For  it  was  you  that  woke  the  thrill  in  the  deeps  of  me. 


13 


THE  OPEN  ROAD 

Away  and  away  it  stretches 

Into  the  distant  horizon, 

Inviting,  and  tempting,  and  luring  me 

On  into  Life  and  Adventure. 

Like  Time,  it  has  known  no  beginning 

And  endless,  like  God,  it  is  waiting: 

While  I,  that  stand  awed  in  the  silence, 

Am  crushed  with  the  love  and  adoring 

That  circles  me  round  in  deep  circles, 

And  passes  and  passes  and  passes 

Through  all  of  my  innermost  being. 

Along  and  along  I  am  running: 

(Glad  heart,  that  is  throwing  me  forward!) 

Night  comes  and  I  sit  by  the  roadside 
And  gaze  at  the  stars  in  the  midnight; 
But  long  ere  the  morning  awakens 
I  wake — and  am  running  and  running 
Over  the  endless,  beginningless: 
Over  the  open  road! 


14 


TO  THE  WINGED  CLOUDS 

O  clouds,  ye  heralds  of  snows  and  storms, 

Ye  wings  of  the  world  with  your  wild  white  forms, 

0  bear  me  up  on  your  wavy  crests 

Your  myriad  mother's  bosoms  and  breasts; 
And  dance  me  out  in  the  universe, 

1  an  infant  and  ye  my  nurse ; 

Feed  me  the  food  that  the  stars  consume, 
And  make  me  strong  in  your  mother-womb; 

Kiss  me  with  lips  that  have  cursed,  and  sing  me 
Your  sweetest  of  songs,  cuddle  me,  wring  me, 

And  deep,  O  deep 

Deep  down  in  your  downy  depths  where  your  songs  ye  keep, 
Sing  me  asleep! 


15 


TO  MY  HEART 

0  little  heart  of  mine, 

Tell  me,  why  did  you  prefer  to  stay  in  darkness  when  you  saw 

light? 

You  saw  Love,  and  still  hated: 
You  saw  Knowledge,  and  sought  it  not: 
You  saw  Faith,  and  doubted: 
You  saw  Hope,  and  despaired: 
Joy,  and  were  still  miserable. 

Why  was  this,  O  Heart  of  mine? 
For  there  came  a  hole  in  the  veil  that  was  wound  about  you 

and  kept  you  in  darkness, 
A  little  hole  which  let  through  the  Light  and  through  which  you 

saw  Love,  and  Knowledge,  and  Faith,  and  Hope,  and 

Joy; 
But  you  drew  the  veil  tighter  around  you  and  hid  the  hole  in 

its  folds 

And  then,  by  and  by,  the  hole  grew  larger — 
You  looked  once  more,  and  saw  how  sacred  it  was, 

And  you  called  to  Light  and  her  companions 

And  lo! 

The  veil  of  darkness  you  had  worn  changed  to  the  Light  you 

sought : 

And  the  hatred  that  you  had  hated  became  your  love  of  Love : 
The  Knowledge  that  you  had  longed  for  was  born  of  your 

ignorance : 
And  out  of  the  doubt  and  fear  you  bore  came  faith  in  Faith 

eternal : 

Born  of  the  blackest  of  your  despair  came  Hope,  the  Con- 
queror of  Worlds: 
And  from  the  depths  of  your  misery  issued  your  wildest  Joy 

in  rejoicing. 

1  know  you  have  blessed  the  hidden  hole  in  the  veil  that  cov- 

ered your  eyes; 

But  tell  me,  O  Heart  of  mine,  and  Soul  of  my  heart  of  hearts, 
Tell  me,  why  did  you  hide  so  long  from  the  Light  that  blos- 
somed about  you? 


16 


IF  THOU  HAST  GIVEN  THY  LIFE 

If  thou  hast  given  thy  life  and  thy  strength  and  thy  power  to 

attain  something — 
Not  for  thyself,  but  for  the  world; 

If  thy  vision  proclaims  it  perfect  and  thou  knowest  none  better ; 
And  if  thou  shall  live  to  see  this  ideal  a  reality  before  thee: 

Thou  shall  not  pause  to  glory  in  it. 

There  will  be  no  time  for  thee  to  put  on  thy  fine  raiment, 

Or  to  feast  in  the  hall  and  rejoice; 

Nor  will  there  even  be  time  for  thee  to  doff  thy  work  clothes. 

But  thou  shalt  run  on: 

Past  the  feast 

And  past  the  merry-makers, 

Past  everything, 

Past  all  the  past, 

Yea,  even  thy  ideal  which  has  been  realized ; 

And  thou  shalt  give  thy  all  to  a  new  ideal, 

For  it  shalt  thou  labor  and  for  it  shalt  thou  drain  thy  new  life. 


17 


SEA  SONG 

I  sit  high  on  a  rock 

The  ocean  lies  low  beneath  me 

And  the  spray  reaches  up  and  sometimes  spatters  me  with  a 

shower  of  pure  pearls, 
While  the  wind  blows  through  my  hair  and  kisses  my  heart. 

The  pearls  are  big; 

The  waves  and  the  rock  are  bigger; 

And  the  ocean  is  bigger  still. 

But  I  .... 

Am  littler  than  the  littlest  pearl; 

I  am  so  little  that  I  long  to  cast  myself  from  the  rock, 

I  long  to  lose  my  great  littleness  in  its  great  bigness, 

To  mix  my  spark  of  power  with  its  omnipotence, 

To  feel  its  vastness,  its  glory,  its  limitless  life, 

To  lie  in  this  mass  of  surging  waters  and  cease  breathing — 

ay,  to  forsake  my  breathing  body ; 
I  must  live  its  glory  and  its  freedom. 
I  MUST  LIVE! 

And  perhaps  I  shall  issue  forth  purified— cleansed, 

Perhaps  I  shall  return  with  all  its  power  merged  into  mine — 

one  with  mine, 
And  perhaps  .   .   .   perhaps  the  ocean  and  I  will  never  part — 

will  never  be  severed, 

Perhaps  we  shall  live  as  One  through  the  ages. 
— Perhaps?  ....  No — Surely. 


18 


STORM  OF  SPIRITS 

Black  trees — black  shore-line — white  sea — black  enfolding 
edges  of  a  bay 

And  I,  beholding  it,  inconspicuous  sheltered — gazing  from  far 
inland. 

Beautiful  white  sky  resting  on  black  uplifted  horizon 

Masses  of  spirit  centered— casting  deep  shadows,  holy,  over 
the  water  near  edges  of  things — 

Then  with  a  slow  swiftness  black  merging  into  white  and  white 
spreading  out  over  all  in  grey  mist. 

Grey  mist  eating  deep  into  everything 

And  clean  white  sea  things  sliding  surely  up  from  the  sand  and 
vanishing  out  with  swift  ease  into  unknown  spaciousness 
of  great  freedom. 

And  when  all  They  have  passed  out  ....  grey  grey  torrents 
of  rain  consuming  all  into  sorrow  and  weeping  not  to  be 
relieved  by  fire  or  sobbing  but  only  a  slow  unintermit- 
tant  mourning  and  dismal  oblivion  of  outline. 

Even  the  trees  above  me  are  stiff  and  silent  and  the  utter  dim- 
ming has  stricken  me  cold  and  dead. 

O  that  I  could  have  run  with  Them clean  also  and  white 

merging  into  the  Unknown  Freedom  where  light 

and  darkness  and  all  hidden  things  stand  revealed  in 
naked  nature. 


19 


IF  YOU  HAVE  SAVED  A  FRIEND'S  LIFE 

If  you  have  saved  a  friend's  life, 

Or  done  some  valorous  deed,  forgetful  of  self, 

If  you  have  been  kind  and  unselfish  and  generous 

And  are  tired  of  doing  good, 

Desiring  to  rest  and  remain  in  peace: 

Remember,  it  is  not  what  you  have  done  that  counts, 

But  what  you  are  doing. 


If  you  have  done  a  good  thing, 

Think  not  that  if  you  do  it  again  it  will  still  be  good. 

The  second  time  you  must  do  something  much  harder,  much 

better. 

Right  and  wrong  are  not  determined  by  the  world, 
But  by  each  individual. 
The  best  you  are  able  is  right. 
Other  than  that  is  wrong. 

And  remember,  it  is  not  what  you  have  done  that  counts, 
But  what  you  are  doing. 


If  you  have  sinned,  and  are  weighted  down  with  the  memory, 

If  you  punish  yourself,  and  do  penance, 

Or  if  you  have  sustained  a  great  grief 

And  therefore  your  life  is  clouded : 

Forget  your  grief  and  your  sins, 

Let  them  not  spoil  your  whole  existence; 

The  only  acceptable  penance  for  wrong,  is  right. 

Remember,  it  is  not  what  you  have  done  that  counts, 

But  what  you  are  doing. 


20 


WORSHIP 

There  is  nothing  in  all  the  world  that  is  not  fit  to  be  wor- 
shipped. 

The  ocean,  mad,  free,  passionate  —  it  is  my  God  to  me. 
The  trees       rocks      sand       (equally  glorious  expressions   of 

Nature)   they  are  my  God  to  me. 
And  the  little  common  things the  field  mouse 

shining  loving  stars  up  thro  the  grass  at  me  as  I  pass 
Or  the  water  rat  peeping      shy      out  of  the  sewer  pipe,  and 

shooting  back  again  at  the  approach  of  a  stranger  .... 
There  is  no  fear  between  us.  We  are  all  worship  to  each  other. 

Behold  as  I  lay  by  the  sea 
The  waves  washed  up  unto  me  many  things 
And  the  tide  slid  back  underneath  the  ocean 
Leaving  a  dead  fish  rotting  on  the  sand. 

And  as  I  lay  worshipping 

There  came  a  voice: 

And  I  knew  that  there  was  nothing  beautiful  in  heaven  or  earth 
that  had  not  its  form  from  the  rot  and  unloveliness  of  cen- 
turies. 


21 


HEAT 

Heat        heat;        sunlight  white  heat  all  heat 

Shadow     black  languid  heat 

Each  grain  of  sand  scorching  deep        deep  into  my  body 

And  sea,  cold       cold  scorching  the  heat       heat  scorching  cold 

All  is  heat: 

Black   shadow-heat       white   sun-heat       dry   sand-heat       wet 

cold-heat 
All  heat      equal     scorching  equally      great  seething  heat. 

Grass      rock      tree      sand      water —  One  heat 

Thus  the  country. 

Fever     fever 

Death      death 

Men  and  women  stricken  in  the  streets  'neath  glare  of  great 
walls all  heat 

Dying        dying,        unclean  fever        and  burning  out  of  hearts 

Hot  tearless  sorrow,  the  deep  city  gone  mad  with  a  terrible 
mania 

Walls      walls  snatching  the  heat      white  delirious  heat 

And  thick  atmosphere  —  unfit  breath  for  even  the  swarm- 
ing diseased  flies. 

O       fever      fever 

Thus  the  city. 

O  wonderful  world-heat 

Heat  of  the  universe  and  all  that  is 

Drawn  out  from  the  center  of  things  by  Unknown  Power: 

Whom  do  I  worship  but  thee? 

Where  a  God,  an  All,  supreme,  save  thee? 

Mad  essence  of  all  and  source       in  the  eyes  of  the  world, 

destroying and   beyond   eyes,   creating 

Scorch  thou  my  body;  or  if  need  be,  consume  it  in  flame 
For    I    will    dissolve    my    identity    in    pain  .   .   .  world-pain 

.  .   .  heat-pain 
And  glory  in  a  new  creation. 


22 


YOU 

You 

I  love  you. 

I  do  not  love  you  as  I  love  my  unknown  gods 

I  love  you  close — 

Small  and  human  .... 

And  the  great  awe  of  your  tenderness. 

You  are  so  beautiful 

And  I  love  your  eyes. 

There  is  a  terrible  sadness  .... 

Burden  of  worlds 

Singing  its  tear-heart. 

You  are  so  big 

And  you  are  so  tired 

So  lonely. 

I  am  so  small, 

But  I  am  not  tired,  and  so  little  lonely. 

I  am  of  the  little  aches  and  hurts 

And  you  are  of  the  ache  of  worlds: 

My  little  ones  so  short,  so  passing. 

I  am  April 

But  with  such  joy  as  April  never  knew. 

But  you  .... 

You  are  time 

Wheeling 
Great  and  lonely 

Through  the  worlds 

On  the  way  of  the  lone  gods. 


23 


LINES 

Lingering  seas  of  sunset 
Flaming  and  red, 

Bits  of  my  golden  sorrow 
Burnished  and  bled. 

Woven  of  misty  vagueness 
Cloud  eagles  swoop 

Bearing  away  my  sorrow 
Into  their  troop. 


24 


WANDERING  LIGHTLY 

Wandering  lightly  over  the  mountains 

Running      and  leaping      and  passing      and  flitting 

Over  and  on  a  dance  and  joy. 

Hither  I  come  and  thither  I  go 

Night  of  the  Silence who  can  know? 

High  ,          low  go  ,  go 

Leaping  chasms 

Climbing  precipices 

Slipping  into  abysses 

Flying  up  out  over 

High  ,          low  go  ,  go 


25 


EVENING  PRAYER 

"O  mighty  Mother — in  silence  receive  thy  child." 

EDWARD    CARPENTER. 

O  mighty  Mother — in  silence  receive  thy  child — in  high 
silences  of  night,  peaceful  and  unresisting  let  me  be  taken ; 

And  through  all  the  quiet  time  let  my  healing  be  accomplished, 

While  stars  bud  and  even  until  the  moon  yields  into  the  sun. 

O  mighty  Mother, 

Make  me  to-night  even  as  the  moon — yield  me  also  into  the 
Sun,  that  we  may  arise  and  go  forth  together,  goldenly 
glorious. 


26. 


MORNING   PRAYER 

I  will  arise  and  run  out  into  the  day,  singing — 

Thou  Mother  shalt  look  forth  out  of  my  eyes  and  lay  blessings 
on  all  life. 

Wheresoever  I  go,  there  shall  be  always  the  quiet  time,  and 
upon  whomsoever  I  lay  my  eyes,  he  shall  be  blessed  for- 
ever. 

My  very  breath  shall  be  healing,  and  always  for  the  strength  I 
give  out,  there  shall  return  an  hundredfold  for  my  own 
healing. 


27 


SONGS  OF  MY  BEING 

I 

I  was  not  begotten  of  woman, 

Nature  was  my  mother. 

I  slept  in  the  womb  of  the  ocean, 

Yea,  Sae*  brought  me  forth. 

The  rocks  cradled  me: 

The  trees  fondled  me  in  their  arms: 

The  flowers  lent  me  their  smiles  for  my  lips, 

Their  quietude  for  my  heart. 

When  I  was  a  child 

I  gathered  pearls  from  the  ocean, 

Pieces  of  gold  and  silver  from  the  earth, 

Pink  coral  from  the  coral  islands, 

And  I  loved  them,  because  they  were  pretty. 

I  ate  the  berries  of  the  deadly  nightshade: 
I  drank  poison  out  of  the  serpent's  fangs : 
A  hundred  times  in  the  storm  the  lightning  struck  across  my 

face: 
And  who  could  count  the  days  I  have  played  in  the  beautiful 

garden  in  the  bosom  of  Sae  where  I  was  nourished  until 

I  came  forth  perfect? 
I  have  walked  through  fire, 
Yea,  stood  still  in  the  midst  of  it  and  breathed  of  the  life  that 

was  in  it. 

There  was  an  earthquake  and  mountains  fell  on  me, 
But  I  took  wings,  and  soared  up  out  of  the  rock. 
Yea,  I  have  drunk  poison  and  laughed; 
I  have  stood  in  fire,  nor  been  burnt; 
I  have  played  in  the  beautiful  sea-garden,  and  have  not  been 

drowned ; 
Rocks  have  fallen  upon  me,  and  I  was  not  crushed. 

I  sing  of  the  strength  of  me 

It  may  well  seem  a  miracle  to  thee — just  now — 

Yet  believe and  some  day  thou  shall  understand. 


*Sae  is  Old  English  for  Sea. 
28 


SONGS  OF  MY  BEING 

II 

am  the  ruler  of  my  body  and  soul  through  my  Spirit: 

am  lord  of  all  about  me : 

make  pure  that  which  is  filled  with  impurities: 

wash  that  which  is  filthy: 

heal  that  which  is  afflicted: 

Anger  and  fear  fly  before  the  flame  of  my  breath 
Like  chaff  before  the  wind: 

That  which  has  been  evil  becomes  nothing  as  I  approach: 
The  stars  are  my  messengers; 
The  sun  and  moon  are  a  footstool  for  my  feet; 
I   sit   on   the   mountains   and   watch    the   world   go    its   way 

below  me; 

At  my  right  hand  is  Eternity, 
And  at  my  left  is  Space : 
The  lightning  is  the  glance  of  my  eye ; 

The  thunder  is  my  voice  when  I  raise  it  in  praise  to  the  skies; 
The  oceans  are  my  tears,  purifying  the  earth : 
Fire  is  my  soul,  burning  the  earth: 
Wind  is  my  breath,  scattering  the  earth: 
And  earthquakes  are  my  words,  upheaving  it. 
I  am  my  master. 

I  am  in  God  and  in  all  these  worlds  about  me, 
And  in  me  are  all  these. 


29 


SPRING 

Spring, 

Ilovethee! 

It  is  the  beginning,  the  world  re-born 

That  I  love. 

And  I  love  it 

Because  I,  too,  am  re-born. 

My  body  sings,  and  is  beautiful; 

Its  ugly  covering  drops  off 

Even  as  thy  snow  departs, 

And  underneath  it  is  strong  and  growing. 

Spring, 

Ilovethee! 

I  see  thee  in  the  vanishing  dirt-laden  snow, 

I  hear  thee  in  the  sap  whispering  inside  black  tree-trunks, 

And  I  behold  thee  in  green  buds  through  the  branches 

Ready  to  burst  out  and  grow  when  their  time  conies. 

In  the  waking  pools  thou  art, 

And  in  the  ice-bound  rivers  breaking  their  thick  coverings 

into  a  thousand  pieces  with  glad  flowing. 
In  the  sky 
The  white  clouds 
I  see  thee. 
In  the  air 
The  warm  clouds 
Thou  art. 

In  the  green  things  growing  up  through  the  earth, 
In  the  birds'  songs 
And  in  me,  also, 
Thou  art  come. 
My  soul  set  free 
In  calm  and  silent  joy 
Worshipping  thee,  as  a  God. 
Thou  art  a  beginning 
Re-bearing  the  earth 
Out  of  great  deadness. 


30 


I  am  the  regenerating  Life; 

I,  O  World,  am  thy  re-birth, 

I  am  thy  great  beginning. 

And  I  am  also  that  which  begins, 

That  which  is  re-born 

To  whom  the  re-birth  comes. 


31 


THE  STORM 

A  tearing  rush 

Tears 

A  flash 

And  a  crash 

A  piercing  shriek 

A  gasping  cry — 

Still  tears 

Strange  lights 

Crashes 

'Midst  flashes 

And  trees 

Bending  in  the  breeze 

And  standing  in  tall  loneliness  against  the  sky. 

Clouds  passing  by 

And  stretching  forth  gray  fingers  in  the  air 

Weird  fantasies  and  forms 

Strange  shapes  and  fair. 

The  tears  still  lingering  on  each  trembling  leaf 

Then  pouring  down  once  more 

In  fiercest  torrents. 

Again  the  wind 

Maddest 

And  gladdest 

Wildest 

And  weirdest. 

Once  more  the  flash 

....    And  lo!  strange  miracle 

A  door  is  opened; 

And  then 

Nor  pause  between,  there  comes  that  rent,  that  cry. 

Was  that  door  opened  then,  I  wonder, 
To  greet  the  Thunder? 


32 


A  winged,  solitary  singer  sails  by — 

Sails  through  the  clouds 

Even  as  water  passes  down  the  wind 

And  in  his  song 

He  seeks  to  outsing  the  living  leaves 

And  wins  the  victory. 

And  then  there  bursts 

From  out  ten  thousand  throats  a  song 

Of  fiercest  glory. 

The  tears  cease  falling. 

And  yet  the  web  the  water  weaves 

Still  covers  leaves. 

And  I 

Rush  forth  to  laugh  aloud  for  Life, — 

For  that  I  live! 


33 


A  TINY  RED  SPIDER 

A  tiny  red  spider  sliding  over  a  piece 

of  white  paper  .... 
Something   laid   down   over   the   little 

life  .  .  .  . 
And  nothing  left  but  a  red  smudge  on 

the  paper,  no  bigger  than  a  pin-head. 


34 


I  SAID 

I  said  to  her, 

See,  here  is  a  tune  I  made  up.     Is  it  not  nice? 

And  she  said, 

I  made  a  poem  once 

I  thought  it  was  very  nice. 


35 


Wild.,  wet.,  women  on  the  hill-tops 
Great . .  glad  .  .  women  of  the  sea 
Sweet  songs  singing  in  the  song-herds 
Whispers  a-whispering  to  me 


Gaunt . .  grey  . .  women  of  the  God-haunts 
Tear  women  ploughing  in  the  plain 
Green  gold  gatherings  of  harvest 
Quiverings  a-breaking  me  in  pain 


36 


Quiet  things  a-lapping  up  the  drear-time 
Heart-breaks  a-crowding  in  the  pain 
Silences  hiding  in  the  darkm 
Soft  swift  shadows  in  the  rain 


White  ones  winging  to  the  westward 
Grey  ones  a-gathering  of  graves 
Still-shod  shadows  out  of  twilight 
Foam-drops  heaving  over  waves 


37 


WHITE  MIRRORS 

Somewhere  lie  great  white  mirrors: 

These,  my  white  ones,  are  just  and  you  cannot  escape  them. 

Nowhere  is  one  with  a  soul  not  reflected  there. 

And  perhaps  if  you  could  gaze  deep  into  the  white  Ones 

Knowing  not  to  whom  the  myriad  souls  belonged, 

It  might  be  you  would  call  to  that  of  the  leper  you  had  helped 

to  stone  from  the  city 
And  leave  your  own  lonely  in  the  dark,    and  crying. 


38 


There  is  no  silence  like  to  my  silence 

And  there  is  no  death  like  to  mine. 

Whither  you  go,  I  was  there  before  you; 

Whom  you  love  I  have  already  loved  and  forgiven. 

When  you  speak,  I  have  spoken  it  many  times; 

And  your  laugh  I  have  laughed  in  unborn  ages. 

When  I  went,  none  knew  of  my  going, 

They  thought  it  was  only  a  leaf  in  the  wind. 

When  I  loved,  none  knew  of  my  loving, 

They  thought  it  was  only  pain  and  a  terrible  sorrow. 

When  I  spoke,  none  knew  of  my  speaking, 

They  thought  it  was  .only  night  and  a  silence  of  quiet. 

When  I  laughed,  none  knew  of  my  laughing, 

They  thought  it  was  only  tears,  and  the  burden  of  ages. 


39 


YOU  ARE  SO  FOOLISH 

You  are  so  foolish — you — with  all  your  little  pains  and  aches 
That  you  stare  at  this  great  Immensity  looking  out  at  you 

....  quiet, 

And  think  to  defend  yourself  from  it 
You  cry  out,  and  hide  from  it 
(The  wild  look  of  a  hunted  thing  is  in  your  eyes) 
You  tear  yourself  fighting  it 

And  all  the  while  it  is  looking,  looking 

Deep,  into  your  heart 

(The  loving  of  it — why  do  you  not  die?) 

Out  beyond  the  furthest 

And  past  the  boundaries  of  the  limitless. 

And  seeing  you  so  well  through  its  loving 
It  leaves  you  free 

You  look  away  from  it and  are  hurt 

And  it  gazes  .  .  .  impassive  .  .  .  watching  through  all  the 

struggles  and  the  deaths 

And  knowing  that  in  the  end,  when  you  look  .... 
You  will  see  clearer  for  the  wounds 
That  the  pain  in  your  heart  will  make  greater 
The  light  in  your  eyes. 


40 


KISSES  OF  THE  BENDING  LILIES 

The  kisses  of  the  bending  lilies 
The  soul-song  of  the  brook      singing 

The  slow  wearing  away  of  rocks  in  the  stream-bed  by  the  ever- 
lasting waters 
And  the  greeting  of  the  rocks      joyous      to  the  wearing. 

Hot     damp  air 
Delicious 

In  my  nostrils  smell  of  clean  wet  earth 
In  my  brain  .   .   .  Silence 

My  Spirit  ...  to  God. 


Pale  green-white  leaves  of  things  in  rock-crevices 

Crowded  with  rain-pearls. 

Silent  singing  of  green  things 

So  silent  .... 

So  singing  .   .  .   . 

Nor  only  green  things,  but  rocks  and  water  also 

And  the  swift  call  of  birds        joyous. 

(The  growing  of  things  is  terrible  .  .  .  immense  .  .  .   ) 

No  sorrow  or  heart-break  but  would  die  of  joy  for  this 

save  it  were  blind  

Tiny  presence  of  Immensity perfectly  complete 

but  no  boundaries unseparated  .  .  . 

.  .  no  end  no  beginning  (why  should  there  be?  I  never 
asked  you  for  an  end  or  a  beginning  ...  it  is  so 
unnecessary) and  yet  complete  .  .  . 

It  is  the  all  that  I  ask 

And  Thou      Lord      hast  lifted  it  to  me! 


41 


I  ACCEPT  YOU 

I  accept  you,  (whoever,  whatever  you  are — it  makes 

no  difference) 

I  go  with  you  on  endless  journeys 
I  pass  with  you  thro  endless  dyings 
I  accept  you,  simply  and  naturally 
And  I  believe  you        utterly. 

I  cannot  lose  you  (whoever,  whatever  you  are  —  it 

makes  no  difference) 
Perhaps  you  go   (we  must  all  go)    but  inevitably 

you  must  return 
And   you   cannot   but   stay   with   me      forever. 

I  do  not  desire  you. 

I  am  not  anxious  lest  you  should  not  come  to  me 

(And  behold!  thro  the  ages  thou  art  running  — 

wings  spread  as  eagles, 
And  casting  away  all  arms  I  have  caught  thee  in 

eternal  embrace!) 

I  do  not  fear  you, 

I  am  not  anxious  lest  you  should  come  to  me 

(And  behold!     Thou,  my  deliverer,  running  with 

heart  outspread 
I  know  thee and   THOU    art  my  God!) 


42 


MOUNTAIN 

You  are  dark  and  silent  to-night,  O  my  Mountain. 
High  moon  watches  and  a  hundred  little  loves  of  snows 

twinkle  out  from  your  shadows, 
From  your  hollow  places. 

You  are  very  great  to-night,  my  Mountain: 
You  are  very  high. 


43 


DEATH 
__A  Play— 

Scene:  A  forest.  Altar  at  the  back.  Moonlight 
•from  behind. 

Clearing  in  front  of  altar. 

Prelude  is  played  (Debussy's  L'Apres-midi  d'un 
Faune). 

Music  is  continued  and  Death,  who  is  young  and 
very  beautiful,  dances  until  it  stops.  She  goes  over 
to  a  tree  and  arrays  herself  in  a  white  sheet,  which 
is  lying  at  the  foot. 

DEATH 

O  Earth!  Why  wilt  thou  send  me  always  these  blind,  who, 
their  fear,  create  for  me  this  cruel  covering? 

Her  face  becomes  hard  and  set  as  the  Old  Man 
enters,  trembling  with  fear. 

OLD  MAN 
Art  thou  Death? 

DEATH 
I  am. 

OLD  MAN 
O  terrible  as  Night  and  Solitude! Leave  me! 

He  starts  to  run  out,  but  returns  as  Death  fixes 
her  gaze  upon  him.  She  points  to  a  tree  and  the 
Old  Man  hobbles  to  it  and  sinks  down  at  its  base. 
Death  throws  off  her  sheet  and  covers  him  with  it, 
saying: 

DEATH 
n.    I  give  thee  back thy  thought. 

She  kneels  at  the  altar.  Music  plays.  Enter 
Galien,  a  child.  She  dances  a  while,  then  suddenly 
sees  Death.  She  stops  and,  studying  Death  closely, 
advances  slowly  step  by  step,  speaking  at  long 
intervals.  Music  plays  in  distance  until  the  end. 


44 


GALIEN 

Who  art  thou?  ....  Thou  art  very  like  someone  I 
loved  once,  long  ages  past  .  .  .  and  yet  like  another  for 
whom  I  have  been  searching  even  longer. 

(Death  waits  in  silent  suspense.  Galien  is 
touched  by  her  distress.) 

Tell  me    .... 

DEATH 

Thou  dost  not  know  me? 

Galien  falls  into  her  arms,  crying  for  joy. 

GALIEN 

My  Mother! God. 

DEATH 
I  am  Birth    ....    and  Life    ....    in  Death.     And 

in  all  these God. 

They  go  out  together.  The  Old  Man  wakes  up 
and  tries  to  shake  off  the  sheet.  He  struggles  with 
it,  but  is  finally  compelled  to  wrap  it  round  him,  as 
he  cannot  shake  it  off. 

OLD  MAN 

It  feels  like  lead 

(He  looks  around  for  Death,  and  then  calls): 

Death,  Death! 
(He  waits.     No  answer.) 
Perhaps  it  was  a  dream,  after  all.    I  shall  go  back  and  see. 

But  he  does  not  go.  He  still  waits  instinctively 
for  an  answer. 

DEATH  (from  within) 

Go  back Love!  And  when  thou  hast  loved 

enough,    and    canst    love    me, — Truth return. 

I  will  not  fail  thee ever!      Only  look  within 

thyself. 

Curtain 

45 


Early  Poems 


AROUND   THE  FIRE 

When  the  dusk  and  twilight  gather  around, 

And  the  sun  has  left  the  sky, 
When  the  evening  dew  is  upon  the  ground, 

And  I  hear  the  whip-poor-wills  cry; 
We  listen  together  without  a  sound 

(My  dearest  Mother  and  I) 
To  some  of  the  secrets  the  fire  has  found 

In  the  pine-logs  old  and  dry — 
And  sometimes  in  the  dreams  of  a  song  I  lie  bound 

And  hear  footsteps  passing  by. 


48 


THE  SKY 

O  the  evening  sky  is  beautiful, 
The  evening  sky  is  bright; 

The  evening  sky  doth  break  the  day 
And  bring  with  it  the  night 

And  when  the  darkness  gathers  o'er, 
At  my  window  I  shall  stay 

To  watch  the  stars  come  one  by  one 
Out  in  the  sky  to  play. 


A  WISH 

I  would  love  to  live  in  the  heart  of  a  wood 
With  flowers  and  birds  for  friends; 

To  sleep  at  night  on  a  bed  of  the  moss 
That  Nature  so  carefully  tends. 

But  Lord,  since  I  cannot,  I  pray  make  my  life 

As  happy  as  if  I  could; 
Make  the  rush  and  the  roar  of  the  city 

Like  the  song  of  birds  in  a  wood. 


50 


SONG   OF  THE   FISHERMAN'S   CHILD 


The  roaring  tide,  the  rushing  wa 
Father,  art  thou  in  the  sea-cave? 
Or  art  thou  in  the  fisher's  boat? 
Or  is  thy  body  on  the  waves  to  float? 

Jesus  in  the  heavens  high, 
Save  my  father  ere  he  die! 


Before  you  left  the  homelike  shore, 
To  see  your  children  never  more; 
Did  you  not  see  the  grey  storm-cloud  ? 
Do  you  not  hear  me  calling  loud? 

Jesus  in  the  heavens  high, 
Save  my  father  ere  he  die! 


51 


TO  LILIES 

Lilies  of  the  Valley, 

Lilies  all  so  bright, 
The  name  that  best  befits  you 

Is  "Lilies  of  Delight" 

Lilies  tall  and  stately, 

Lilies  white  and  fair, 
Lilies,  there  is  nothing 

That  can  with  you  compare. 


52 


GOD 

Far  from  the  busy  roar  of  the  town, 

Far  from  the  forest,  dreary  and  brown, 

Far  from  the  mountain,  grim  and  steep, 

Alone  on  a  rock  rising  out  of  the  deep, 

With  none  to  care  for  my  thoughts  or  me 

Save  only  God and  the  sea — 

The  wild  waves  break  on  the  rocky  shore, 

The  dark  clouds  lower  unheeded, 
And  all  that  troubled  me  before 
Hath  past  away  like  a  dream  of  yore 

At  the  word  of  the  Ever-Needed. 

God,  art  Thou  not  the  earth  and  the  sea, 

And  the  wind  that  I  love  so  well? 
Is  it  not  Thy  Spirit  that  kills  my  care? 
Art  Thou  not  in  the  rocks,  the  clouds,  the  air 

That  with  these  I  so  love  to  dwell? 


53 


THE  SNOW  STORM 

Fast  the  feathery  flakes  are  falling, 
Loud  the  icy  wind  is  calling, 
Blowing  hither,  blowing  thither, 
Hastening  it  knows  not  whither; 
Hurling  snow  in  wild  delight, 
Heaping  drifts  of  spotless  white 
Softer  than  the  softest  down, 
Glittering  as  a  silver  crown. 

Fast  the  feathery  flakes  are  falling 
Loud  the  icy  wind  is  calling; 
Heaping  snowdrifts  without  number, 
Working  while  the  world  doth  slumber. 


54 


CHARM:  TO  BE  SAID  BEFORE  GOING  TO  SLEEP 

I  am  drifting  away  from  the  realms  of  Thought, 

Borne  o'er  the  river  by  wind  and  tide 

To  the  magic  land  on  the  other  side — 

Where  the  soft  winds  blow  and  the  song  of  the  sea 

From  a  mental  chaos  sets  me  free — 

For  I  was  wearied  with  Thought. 


55 


TO  M  H.  L. 

Loving  sister  of  God's  music  makers 
The  birds — the  thrushes  and  the  meadowlarks; 
Sister  of  the  singing  winds  and  zephyrs, 
Sister  of  the  clouds — the  wings  of  heaven, 
Sister  of  the  strange  shaped  stars  of  winter — 
Glistening  living  wonderflakes  of  winter, 
Sister  of  the  strange  shaped  leaves  of  autumn—- 
Softly colored,  whispering  leaves  of  autumn, 
Sister  of  the  trees  with  Life  resounding, 
Sister  of  the  flowers  of  all  the  seasons, 
Sister  of  the  gold  and  silver  sunsets — 
Daughter  of  God  art  thou — and  child  of  Nature, 
O  sister  of  the  World  of  Beauty! 


56 


I  WENT  TO  THE  CHURCHYARD 

I  went  to  the  churchyard  on  Sunday  night, 

Away  back  there  where  the  grey  moons  glow—- 
And I  saw  the  church  in  the  misty  light, 
And  I  heard  the  people  singing  low. 

I  saw  the  moon  in  the  cloudy  skies, 
And  I  heard  the  night  wind  singing — 

And  I  knew  the  meaning  of  wonderful  eyes, 
And  clouds winging. 

I  knew  the  song  of  the  whispering  leaves, 
And  I  thought  of  a  form  once  buried  there; 

I  was  caught  in  the  net  the  silence  weaves, 
And  I  drank  with  joy  the  sweet  fresh  air. 

Then  my  loved  one  rose  and  came  to  me, 

And  her  soul  communed  with 
And  out  of  her  eyes  I  seemed  to  see 

God's  glory  shine. 


I  left  the  churchyard  that  starry  night, 

Away  back  there  where  the  grey  moons  glow; 

And  God  was  alone  in  the  misty  light — 
And  I  knew  that  it  always  had  been  so. 


57 


THE  SONG  OF  THE  CHILD 

(From  The  Grey-Green  Forest) 

O  River  that  leapest  over  the  river-bed, 
River  that  weepest  aver  the  river-bed, 
That  hast  called  me,  and  led  me,  and  hidden,  and  fed  me, 
That  hast  taught  me  at  last  that  thy  hiding  place  is  everywhere, 
In  the  hidden  and  high  places  upon  the  earth; 
(For  there  is  a  hidden  place  in  every  inch  of  ground, 
And  high  places  are  in  great  abundance;) 
Thou  that  hast  lured  me  on  with  Love 
In  an  unending  search, 

For  though  I  have  found  thee,  I  must  still  search  thee, 
Thou  that  art  gushing,  and  rushing,  and  hushing,  and  running, 
and  rippling,  and  singing, — 
O  take  thou  me  at  last! 


58 


THE  STARS 

Have  you  ever  heard  the  stars  sing? 
They  sing  wonderful  songs: 

Songs  about  common  things, 

Everyday  things, 

That  you  and  I  see  and  think  nothing  of! 

Sometimes  they  sing  about  these  common  things 

That  we  (presume  to)  know  about: 

And  sometimes 

About  far  away,  misty  things. 

Have  you  ever  heard  the  stars  sing? 

No? 

Well,  sometime,  if  you  are  listening, 

If  you  are  out  in  a  garden  with  God, 

At  night Perhaps  you  will  hear, 

Perhaps the  stars  sing. 


59 


THE  OCEAN'S  LULLABY 

O  beautiful  child  of  the  human  race, 

With  the  haggard  eyes  that  once  were  blue, 

With  the  look  of  anguish  on  thy  face 

— Think  not  I  am  angry — know  I  am  kind, 

For  the  ocean  loves  thee  e'en  as  the  wind, 

O  woman  with  the  beautiful  eyes ! 

Then  shut  those  beautiful  eyes  of  thine, 

Those  haggard  grey  eyes  that  once  were  blue; 

And  thy  face  shall  be  washed  by  the  waves  and  the  dew — 

And  thou  shalt  wake  in  the  arms  of  the  dawn — 

And  the  ocean  that  loved  thee  will  be  gone; 

And  the  sun  shall  rise  on  another  day 

Better  than  that  which  has  passed  away. 

And  again  thou  shalt  wake  in  the  arms  of  the  dawn 

But  the  ocean  that  loved  thee  forever  is  gone. 


60 


EPILOGUE 

Gathered  together  in  this  little  book 

Are  all  my  poems;  not  worthy  of  a  look; 

But  still  I  trust  that  you  will  treasure  them, 

Tho'  not  the  flower,  possibly  the  stem. 

For  who  can  write  a  perfect  poem  at  once? 

We  all,  at  first,  must  play  the  part  of  dunce, — 

The  root  and  stem,  from  which  the  flower  grows. 

And  more; — -the  stem  adds  somewhat  to  the  rose. 

For  just  imagine,  Mother,  in  your  mind 

A  rose  without  a  stem, — an  ugly  kind ! 

Once  more — I  think  you'll  love  them  more  for  me 
Than  for  themselves. 

However  that  may  be 
The  book  is  finished — all  there  is  to  see. 


61 


THE  DIFFERENCE 
—A  Tale— 

Once,  in  a  far-off  country,  there  lived  a  child  who  was 
different.  He  did  not  like  the  things  that  other  children  liked, 
and  he  did  not  know  how  to  play.  The  village  children  tried 
to  take  him  into  their  games;  but  he  was  so  plainly  unhappy, 
that  they  only  wondered  and  let  him  go.  By  and  by  they 
forgot  about  him;  but  all  the  time  he  wondered  why  he  was  so 
different  from  the  rest.  Yet  his  wondering  was  all  to  no  pur- 
pose, for  neither  he  nor  the  children  that  were  happy  and 
played  could  ever  understand  the  difference.  Only  he  knew 
that  in  the  depths  of  his  soul,  at  night,  something  cried. 

And  as  he  grew  older  and  was  more  with  others,  he  began 
to  love  the  companionship  and  try  to  understand.  But  he 
never  knew  them,  save  on  the  surface  of  life;  for  his  language 
of  deep  things  was  different  from  theirs. 

And  now,  when  he  was  become  a  man,  great  flashes  of 
insight  came  to  him,  yet  when  he  tried  to  teach  them  to  the 
people,  none  would  listen  to  his  words.  And  always  he  knew 
that  it  was  because  he  was  different;  but  neither  he  nor  the 
others  could  ever  understand  the  difference. 

Night  after  night  he  spent  in  prayer  that  he  might  under- 
stand himself  and  throw  off  this  curse  of  difference,  so  that 
the  people  would  listen  to  his  words,  for  sometimes  it  seemed 
to  him  that  his  heart  would  break  when  they  turned  from  him 
and  the  visions  he  had  to  tell.  And  sometimes,  when  for  a 
moment  he  stopped  praying,  that  which  had  cried  in  the 
depths  of  his  soul  as  a  child  was  still  heard  crying;  but  then  he 
would  pray  again  until  it  became  inaudible  through  the  tumult 
of  his  praying. 


62 


One  night  after  many  years,  it  happened  that  his  untold 
visions  haunted  him  so  that  he  could  not  pray,  and  in  that 
time,  when  the  voices  of  silence  were  singing,  the  crying  in  the 
depths  of  his  soul  was  heard  by  God.  And  immediately 
there  came  to  him  One  who  understood  all  things,  and  to 
Whom  there  was  no  great  and  small.  And  His  presence  laid 
before  the  man's  soul  many  things,  so  that  he  knew  that  to 
Him  was  nothing  different,  and  that  His  dwelling-place  was 
the  heart  of  the  people.  And  he  saw  that  for  this  vision  had 
the  world  been  made,  and  that  all  things  had  had  their  begin- 
ning in  this;  and  he  understood  that  all  he  had  suffered  had 
been  suffered  from  the  beginning  of  ages  by  those  he  had 
most  envied. 

Then,  with  terrific  force,  he  sent  forth  his  vision,  silent,  to 
be  burned  into  the  souls  of  the  multitude;  and  having  accom- 
plished that  for  which  he  had  come  into  the  world,  he  laid 
down  his  body  with  a  song,  passing  out  over  the  grave. 


(S3 


COPYRIGHT,  1020,  BY 
NINA  BULL 


